


I'll Be Back In Time

by shiny_starlight



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-14
Updated: 2011-03-14
Packaged: 2017-10-16 23:37:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/170592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shiny_starlight/pseuds/shiny_starlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On Jim's 21st Birthday, a mysterious Vulcan stranger saves him from a killer, and asks for the most difficult thing of all: his trust.</p><p>Terminator Fusion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Be Back In Time

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a fleet_academy assignment on LJ.
> 
> The challenge was:
> 
>  _Your task is to write an AU crossover where Star Trek characters are written into another fandom's universe (i.e. Spock and Kirk as Holmes and Watson, Data as Pinocchio, etc.). You can choose whichever universe you want (and I do mean that, everything is fair game), just make sure that your fic is longer than 200 words._
> 
>  
> 
> This fic is complete, though it does not go through the whole movie. It was written as a one shot, a section, a beginning of a destiny. The rest is up to your imagination.
> 
> I'm a bitch, aren't I? I may write more of this at some point, when life gives me some time.
> 
> Fusion with Terminator - Jim = Sarah Connors. Spock = Kyle Reese.

The sound of someone crashing into his rickety closet woke Jim from the deep sleep he’d been indulging in. His stomach rolled and his head started pounding as soon as he opened his eyes and he winced as the early morning sunlight drove spikes into his brain. He blindly reached out to his bedside table, sorting through the tubes of lube, condom wrappers and beer bottles for the hypo of hangover remedy he knew was there. Once his fingers closed around the metal tube, he pressed it against his inner arm and sighed in relief as he let the remedy run through his system.

He opened his eyes as soon as his stomach settled and saw the young male Tellarite that he’d fucked last night looking at him, as amused an expression on his face as Jim had ever seen on one of his species.

“You humans have such little tolerance for alcohol,” he told him as he pulled on his boots.

Jim snorted. “Yeah, thanks for the update...” What was his name again? “Glar,” he finished, pulling the name out of nowhere. It must have been the right one considering he wasn’t currently being shouted at by an angry alien. Tellarites were great to have on your side in a fight, or for a pretty physical one night stand, but damnit if they didn’t argue with you just for the hell of it. Usually Jim didn’t care, got a thrill out of the debates that were usually a prelude to some pretty intense orgasms, but he just wasn’t in the mood for it today.

“I see mornings aren’t your best time,” Glar said, leaning forward to press a hard kiss onto Jim’s mouth. “It was... interesting.”

“That it was,” Jim smirked up at him, climbing out of bed and stretching. He could feel Glar’s eyes on him, taking in his naked body that was dotted with bruises and bitemarks, but Jim didn’t care. He wanted a mugful of coffee and his apartment to himself, and not necessarily in that order. Thankfully, the young diplomatic aid seemed to get the message and headed towards the door of Jim’s small place.

“Oh, and happy birthday,” he called back as he walked through the door. The click of the lock engaging echoed through the silent apartment, and Jim slumped back against the bed, suddenly feeling a hell of a lot worse than he had before. Oh yeah. For a few minutes, he had almost forgotten.

Today was his 21st birthday, a fact he had gone out and drunk himself into a stupor last night to try to forget. He didn’t even have to ask how Glar had known about it. Everyone knew.

Twenty one years ago today, his father had done his ‘Captain Goes Down With The Ship’ routine, and got himself blown up with the Kelvin. His ‘heroic sacrifice’ had been the favoured topic of discussion for the majority of news networks for the past week, once again picking apart his decisions, and speculating about the ‘family he left behind.’

Jim tugged on some boxer shorts and stomped to the kitchen to make some coffee, turning on the Federation News Channel by force of habit as he passed the media unit. The pretty Andorian newscaster was cheerily discussing the results of the Galactic Cup with her human co anchor, but by the time Jim’s coffee maker was making delicious coffee smells, the talk had turned to the Kelvin Memorial Ceremony taking place at Starfleet HQ later today, and speculation as to whether the ‘Kelvin Baby’, i.e. Jim, was going to make an appearance this year.

Jim angrily stabbed the off switch, left the coffee to percolate and headed for a shower, scowling the entire way.

He didn’t notice the strange man with pointed ears, dressed in black clothing standing outside, looking into the first floor apartment from across the street, watching his every move.

~*~

Jim really, really didn’t want to leave the house. He just knew that people would be staring at him all day; people who knew who he was, people that had a vague idea, strangers in the street... Ok, so maybe the last bit was a bit paranoid, but damnit, that’s how it felt when this time of year rolled ‘round. He had gotten the requisite, stilted ‘Happy birthday’ guilt trip comm. from his mother already this morning, and wasn’t a big enough of a fool to expect one from Sam. His brother was probably holed up in a bar somewhere on Mars, drowning his sorrows, or working his ass off in a science lab, ignoring the date as best he could. Who the fuck knew? Jim sure didn’t. He hadn’t heard from his big brother since he was 17 and fresh out of juvie. Sam had called to ream him a new one, and to wash his hands of Jim.

Fuck it. It wasn’t like Jim needed them anyway.

Time eventually marched on, and Jim left the apartment and stepped into the chilly, morning air. His leather jacket didn’t really provide enough insulation for him as he trudged his way to the construction site where he worked, but he knew once he got started, he’d soon warm up. It was a job way, way below his skill level. He knew he should have been the ones designing the buildings, not constructing them, but the pay wasn’t terrible. It was good enough to keep him in New York for seven months, the longest he’d been anywhere since he’d left Iowa when he was 18. He had settled into a comfortable routine of work, riding his bike and getting into the occasional bar brawl, along with bedding numerous humans and aliens alike that were drawn to this amazing city.

It wasn’t much of a life, but it was his.

As expected, as soon as he hit the site, the whispers started. People looked at him out of the corners of their eyes, conversation stopped when he walked by, and so many of them refused to look him in the eye. From his vantage point on the top floor of the build, Jim could see them all. He could also see the small gaggle of sentients that could only be reporters that congregated outside the gates. He was lucky his foreman, a man named Rivers, insisted on a closed site. A lesser man would have succumbed to the temptation, and taken the bribes they were undoubtedly offering the man to let them in. Rivers was a dick, and a hard ass, but he took his job seriously, and Jim was relatively safe from their prying questions and cameras for most of the day.

That all changed when his shift ended. He elbowed his way through the crowd, ignoring their shouted questions and cameras, and made his way down the crowded sidewalks, outrunning them with ease. He lost himself in the crowd of the city, blending in with the populous, just one more soul in a city of millions.

~*~

Jim wandered for a bit after that. He wasn’t big on his birthday, but he didn’t want to go home to drink himself into a stupor alone. So he walked. In the seven months since he had arrived in the city, he had done this often, comfortable and confident enough in his own skin that anyone looking for trouble usually kept their distance. He walked the streets, learning the layout, scoping out the best bars and making friends with their bartenders and bouncers to get on their good side. He occasionally took advantage of the city’s museums and libraries, taking the time to absorb the culture of a dozen different species and a dozen different worlds.

Today, he avoided pretty much all of the main tourist areas of the city. They were crammed with beings from all different species, which didn’t bother Jim in the slightest. It was the giant holo feeds of FNC and the like that broadcast Interstellar News 24/7, and would all undoubtedly be covering the memorial from start to finish.

Jim didn’t need the memorial and this day to remember.

As he walked, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up several times, and Jim turned, positive that someone was watching him, but no one was there. Once, just once, he caught the flash of pale skin and dark clothing before the person, and the feeling disappeared. It left a lingering sense of unease in Jim, and the feeling stayed with him all the way through the burger and fries at his favourite diner, the one that sold authentic, hand prepared food, not this replicated crap.

It was with something akin to relief when night fell and the respectable people went home. The bars and clubs turned on their lights and opened their doors, and Jim felt his unease settle a little. He strode confidently into his favoured haunt, The Tholian’s Web, and let the comforting sounds of music and people fill his ears. Here, here he was comfortable.

~*~

Jim was sitting at the bar, half chatting to a pretty little thing called Amy when he saw him.

‘He’ was a tall, slender being with pale skin and a truly atrocious hair cut, seated at a small table in the corner with a good view of the entire club. Jim took in the silky cap of hair and smirked. A bowl cut? Really? Had that ever worked for anybody? Ever? Jim couldn’t tell the colour of his eyes from this distance, but he did know that they were trained on him. When Jim met his eyes, the other man looked away, revealing ears that curved up gracefully into a point. A Vulcan then. Guess it explained the hair. He was dressed in non-descript dark clothing, and the contrast of his pale skin and choice of clothes made the hair stand up on the back of Jim’s neck.

He had a sudden flash of memory from the night before, of seeing the same Vulcan staring at him at the bar last night while he had failed to drink Glar under the table, but had succeeded in talking him into his bed. Jim’s eyes narrowed in suspicion and the feeling of unease rushed back. It brought righteous anger with it, and Jim slammed down his drink on the bar, making his way through the throng of people, ignoring the put out shouts of Amy as he left her without so much of a backwards glance.

He stalked across the room to where the Vulcan was sitting, the other man watching his approach with carefully blank features. When he reached the table, the Vulcan said nothing, just looked up at him while Jim crossed his arms angrily in front of him.

“Why are you following me?” Jim demanded having to shout over the music. He was nothing if not direct.

The Vulcan raised an eyebrow at him, and if he wasn’t so pissed off, Jim would have recognised the lurch of arousal that shot through him at the sight.

“May I ask why you are under the impression that I am following you?” the Vulcan asked, his voice as cool and fluid as water flowing over Jim’s skin.

That lurch of arousal, Jim noticed and quickly suppressed. Dammit, now was not the time.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that you are,” Jim countered. “I saw you watching me last night at McGinteys, my spidey sense has been tingling all day today and now, here you are in a part of town that no respectable Vulcan would be caught dead in, once again watching me. So, either tell me what the fuck is going on, or leave me the hell alone.”

Jim could almost swear that he saw a flicker of amusement in the Vulcan’s eyes as he took Jim in.

“Your ‘spidey sense’?” he repeated slowly, arching that damn eyebrow again, and Jim felt himself flush in embarrassment for the first time in years.

“Just answer the damn question.”

“Please sit, Mr. Kirk,” the Vulcan said, indicating to a chair on the opposite side of the table. Jim took it, warily eyeing the alien.

“How do you know my name?” he asked, fists clenched, ready to fight or run at a moment’s notice.

“I know many things about you, Jim,” the Vulcan told him.

“Oh, cos that’s not at all creepy or stalkerish,” Jim rolled his eyes, and there it was again! The flash of amusement in the other man’s eyes. “At least tell me your name.”

“I am called Spock,” the Vulcan replied.

Spock. The name rolled around in Jim’s head, seeming to settle in to his bones. It was as if something clicked, something that he had been searching for all his life but never knew it. It was crazy, and dangerous, but Jim’s gut told him that despite Spock’s stalkerish tendencies, he could trust him.

Still, he had a lot of explaining to do.

“Alright, Spock. Care to tell me what you’ve been doing following me all day?”

“I have not been following you today,” Spock replied, and Jim rolled his eyes.

“So it wasn’t you that was following me for three hours after I finished work,” he scoffed, but tensed up when Spock seemed to turn to ice in front of him.

“Someone was following you?” he asked, nervous energy seemingly running through every inch of him.

“Yeah, you were,” Jim said warily. “I caught a flash of you once when I turned around.”

“Jim,” Spock said very seriously, and at any other time, Jim would have wondered at the possessive tone in Spock’s voice so soon after they had met, but as it was, he was starting to pick up on the Vulcan’s nerves.

“What?”

“Jim, I was not physically following you. I implanted a tracking device into your clothing when you were... distracted last night, and have been monitoring you from there, but I have not been following you.”

“You what?” Jim demanded, beginning to stand up, but Spock’s arm shot out and grabbed Jim’s wrist, keeping him half leaning over the table.

“Jim, it is imperative that you listen to me. I am here to protect you.” In any being other than a Vulcan, the tone would have been pleading. Jim was too pissed off to care.

“Get the fuck off me,” he snarled, trying to pull his arm out of the Vulcan’s grip. “The only person I need protecting from is you.”

“No, Jim. I...”

Suddenly Spock’s eyes widened as he looked over Jim’s shoulder, and he tugged on his wrist hard, sending Jim sprawling over the table.

Jim’s protest was cut off by the whine of phaser fire passing through where he had been standing only moments before and the exploding of plaster and dust as the beam hit the wall instead of its target.

Spock was instantly on his feet, a phaser in one hand. He shot at someone, just once, before grabbing a shocked Jim’s hand and dragging him through the crowd of screaming and hysterical sentients that stampeded towards the door. Jim stumbled along beside him, the alcohol he had consumed before the confrontation making him clumsy. The adrenaline soon course through him, burning off the lingering affects of alcohol as Spock pulled him steadily through the crowd into the cold night air, and started to run. Jim followed, because what the hell else could he do? Someone had taken pot shots at him, and the remarkably easy to read Vulcan had saved his ass and hauled him out of there. He seemed to know what was going on. The way Jim saw it, he had little choice.

They ran for several blocks, dodging through side alleys and narrow streets as they made their way to the more populated areas of the city. Whoever was shooting at him had shown no compunction against opening fire in a crowded place full of innocent sentients, but at least in a crowd, Jim and Spock had some hope of hiding.

Jim kept pace with Spock with little difficulty, matching his stride as they pelted down the New York streets. Finally they came to Time’s Square, still known for the millions passed through it daily. Spock pulled him to one side, into the awning of a clothes store that had shut for the night. Jim leaned back against the wall, tired after their sudden run. Beside him, Spock didn’t even look out of breath.

The bastard.

“Ok,” Jim demanded when he had sufficient use of his lungs again. He stood up, glaring at Spock. “I want answers. Who was that? Why the hell was he shooting at me and what do you have to do with it?”

“That was Nero,” Spock said calmly, a small twitch of his expressive eyebrows belying the deep hate in his eyes when he said those words. “He was attempting to kill you to prevent certain events from coming to pass in the near future.”

“The future,” Jim blinked. Just his luck. His savour is the one nut job Vulcan has ever produced. “Right, the future.”

He turned to walk away, but the strong grip of an inhumanly hot hand stopped him in his tracks.

“I am in earnest,” Spock said, suddenly so close Jim could feel his breath on his cheek when he spoke and suppressed the accompanying shiver. “Four years from now, Nero will attempt to commit a heinous atrocity. He will partially succeed, but will not complete his mission because one man stopped him. You stopped him. We thought him dead, were sure there was no way he could have survived. Somehow, he did and when into hiding for three years. During that time, he harnessed the red matter to create wormholes, using them for his own purposes. He has travelled back in time to kill you, and stop you from destroying his plans.”

“Me?” Jim asked weakly. What the hell? “How am I in the position to stop him? And where do you fit into all this?”

“I work with you,” Spock said, his gaze flickering over Jim’s features. “We are... friends.”

Oh there was so much more to it than that, Jim could tell. Spock was a man from a race where physical contact was almost taboo, and here he was, practically plastered to Jim’s side, breathing the same air as he, and showing no signs of discomfort. If anything, he was looking at Jim as if he wanted to be closer; as if he wanted to crawl into Jim’s skin with him.

Jim took a shaky breath and looked Spock in the eye. He believed him. God help him, but he believed him. The sincerity in his voice was hard, if not impossible, to fake. And his actions back at the bar proved that he didn’t want to hurt Jim. Plus, most importantly of all, his gut was telling him to go with it. His instinct had never steered him wrong before. It was what had told him to get out of the house now when Kodos’ execution squads had shown up in his neighbourhood under the guise of government support on Tarsus IV. It was what had told him to fire up his dad’s car and drive like hell, to finally push Frank over the edge to the extent where his mother couldn’t ignore the bruises on Jim’s skin any more, and divorced the asshole. And now, it was telling him to place his trust, and his life, in the man in front of him with the pointed ears and deep brown eyes that looked almost human.

“This is insane, you know that, right?” he said, and Spock nodded once, his eyes soft. “I don’t even know you. And I’m going to need way more details before the night is out.”

“I am aware of how improbable this sounds. But please, if you wish to survive, please accompany me now.”

Jim took a deep breath, leaning against the wall of the building.

“I swear I saw a movie like this once,” he said, smiling a little.

“Indeed?” Spock asked, and there went the eyebrow again. Jim nodded and stood up straight.

“Right. Where to now?” he asked.

“We need to find some shelter, away from the streets of the city. Follow me.”

And so Jim did, running into the night after a man he didn’t know, but trusted beyond all reason all the same.


End file.
